Under Your Skin
by mccm
Summary: He stared at the boy. And he decided.


**"Under Your Skin"**

Disclaimer: _Obviously_ not mine.

Word counts: 1,467

* * *

When Harry stood in front of the mirror of Erised, his mind was swirling like crazy.

Quirrell? The most harmless professor in this entire school?

Somewhere inside him felt so disappointed that it wasn't Snape.

They had been suspecting the wrong person for the whole year.

 _He_ had been suspecting the wrong person for the whole year.

"Potter," Quirrell hissed from behind him, "What do you see?"

Harry looked at himself in the mirror. His family weren't there this time; only him standing there wearing his torn robes and warm set of pajamas that felt _too_ warm at this moment.

Only his reflection.

"I-" His voice broke. He cleared his throat once, "I see my reflection…"

"Your reflection," Quirrell sounded annoyed. He then hissed, "What else do you see?"

Harry stood motionless, staring at the mirror that shown nothing but his reflection.

"Nothing. Just… me."

It didn't seem to be a good answer since Quirrell snarled what sounded almost too animalistic to be human then shoved him aside in one move.

And then something unexpected happened.

Harry gasped silently when the feeling shot through his body from where Quirrell had touched his shoulder.

Seemed like Quirrell was experiencing the same thing because Harry could hear the man's sharp intake of breathe before he fell to the floor.

Harry sprawled on the floor, still dazed from what happened.

He felt the warmth; his body tingled in the way he had never felt before. For the first time in eleven years of his life, Harry felt _complete._

"What did you do?" Quirrell breathed out, his eyes wide and almost popped out their sockets. "What did you do, WHAT DID YOU DO?" The man screamed in the last sentence, moved to towering over him.

"Answer me, Potter! What was that!?" His hands reached out almost like he was trying to grab his shoulder and shook him for answer, but they stopped and harshly retreated when the owner recalled what had happened a few moments ago.

"I-I don't know." Harry said in all honestly. He didn't know what happened, but something inside him wanted to – _yearn for_ doing it _again_.

"Don't lie, Potter. Or I will-!"

Quirrell suddenly paused in the middle of the sentence, his eyes glazed over then he whispered out in very urgent tone;

"But Master, you are too weak to-" The man gasped again, this time the pain laced in his voice. Then he whispered an obedient "Yes, Master."

Harry watched silently from his spot on the floor. Quirrell closed his eyes for a second, then his hunch posture stretched up and full with grace that the man had never had; his shoulder broad, his hands clasped elegantly, his head held high.

He held himself like the king of the whole world.

He looked like a different man. There was no trace of stuttering, scare-ready professor.

And when he opened his eyes again, Harry was sure this was a different person altogether; his eyes were red, _blood_ _red_ and staring intently at him.

The intense stare made him felt uncomfortable though he couldn't avert his eyes. He felt… entranced by the colour of them although they unnerved him at the same time; no human should have eyes with the colour like _that_.

They're 'demonic', 'inhuman' and so breathe-taking _beautiful_.

"Harry Potter," The man said with hissing tone that made Harry shuddered. "Finally, we meet."

"Who are you?" He found himself asking, because no matter how he wanted to believe, this man before him was definitely _not_ Quirrell.

Not-Quirrell smirked, his eyes glinting like he knew something and he didn't.

"I'm… Lord Voldemort." He said finally, after meeting Harry's eyes for a whole minute after the question.

"Voldemort," Harry whispered. Fear and panic surged through his mind. The Dark Lord was here, right in front of him, and he could do nothing to stop the man without his wand.

Voldemort chuckled as if he could read Harry's mind. He then started to circle around him, looking at him up and down like he was an interesting piece of art on exhibit.

"I've heard a lot about you, _The Boy Who Lived_." He said. Harry found that his velvety deep voice rolling out of Quirrell's mouth was quite unnerving. That voice did not match with his appearance of squirmy professor at all.

"Griffindor's Golden boy. _Dumbledore's pet_." Voldemort spitted the last word out like it was poison then he moved suddenly, swept close to him in a mere second; his hand hovering above Harry's face.

Harry stared into the red depth. The eyes were almost like cat's, with the slit pupil that dilate in the dimly lit room…

The man smirked again. Then slowly _, so very_ slowly, his fingertips graced Harry's cheeks.

The warmth blossomed under the touch, radiating through his whole being.

Then both of his hands were cupping his face and Harry unconsciously closed his eyes.

It was like basking under the sun in winter. The coldness that he had never noticed he felt was melting away under the man's touch. Like the first gulp of fresh air after being under the murky water for so long he couldn't tell.

He could breathe freely again. He could feel the warmth again.

He was whole.

Then the euphoric ebbed away when the man removed his hands from his face.

Harry popped his eyes open only to gaze into the intense blood red orbs. If he wasn't still shaking under the power of the touch, he would have noticed that the slit pupils had changed into the circular human-like ones.

Voldemort backed away, but still stood close by. The man seemed to be in deep thought when Harry started to come to his sense.

"What'd you do to m'?" He slurred. The tingles still lingered on his face and they made him shivered.

"Harry Potter," Suddenly the finger was on his lightning bolt scar; this time the overwhelming hotness surged through Harry's mind, blocked all thoughts away, making his eyes rolled back in euphoria.

" _You're mine,"_ The bewildered hissing was the last thing Harry could hear before the overwhelm sense of wholeness send him to the land of sleep; Harry Potter fell unconscious in the Dark Lord arms.

Voldemort looked at the mere child in his embrace with calculating gaze before lowering him on the floor; He felt stronger than he ever had in years. He could possess and control Quirrell without feeling drain anymore, though still feel the man at the back of his mind, obedient and submissive, relaxing to his command.

His eyes snapped to the boy that seemed to be in deep sleep, judging by his relaxed features and slightly opened lips.

He'll take care of this later… but for now; the stone.

The Dark Lord twisted to face the mirror, slowly took in its appearance one by one.

'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.'

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly. The tiredness that clung to him since he possessed the pathetic professor was now gone, his thought was cleared than they ever be in years.

'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.'

'Ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desire'

' _I show not your face but your hearts desire'_

Dumbledore was so pathetic; he thought, sneering.

Voldemort then closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, shoving the need for the stone back under his complex Occlumency shield; keeping his mind blank and out of any desire.

It was hard, but he wasn't the Dark Lord for nothing.

His reflection stared at him motionlessly at first then after a minute passed by, it _smiled_ at him.

It smiled and moved the right hand to pat on his robes pocket.

He mirrored the move than found something solid bulged his pocket.

The reflection was out right grinning by now. It patted on the pocket twice then swiftly moved away out of the frame.

Voldemort stood there, staring at the mirror in disbelief for a second. Before mirrored the reflection and moved out of the mirrors range.

It was so easy.

Dumbledore was such a fool, thinking this could stop him from getting the stone…

Such an idiot.

He opened his pocket to find a copper red stone sitting in it. The satisfied smirk appeared on his face.

Now that the stone was out of the way, he turned his attention back to the boy.

Harry Potter was still there, unconscious.

He stared at the boy.

And he decided.

* * *

When Severus managed to get him, everything was gone.

Albus barged into the chamber, with Severus and Miss Granger hot on his heels, only to find no one there.

The room was empty. The fire lit. The mirror stood there.

The tremendous worry hit him like a wave and turned into horror when he checked the mirror.

The stone was gone.

And so was Harry Potter.

* * *

 **A/N:** And it's _done._

Who know writing Voldemort's point of view would be so difficult. The man was too damn eloquent with his vocabulary that I just gave up trying to imitate him. So I apologize if my Voldemort sounded somewhat like a primary school kid. I just _can't._

The idea came to me when I was working with my project. I guess I was really bored that my mind started to imagine things unconsciously.

This was all I've got in my brain; just a scene, nothing more, nothing less. I just want to get it out of my head because it was getting more and more distracting. There's no plot what-so-ever, so don't expect any more update. It was supposed to be a one-shot. I just don't feel like closing the story now because I might be able to come up with something else, then again, I might not. Who knows *shrugs*

Thank you for reading the story. Sorry for all spelling and grammar errors.

I shall get back to my boring assignment and projects now.

Til next time.

 _mccm_


End file.
